


True Love Tends to Forget

by Cinnamon_for_days



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Baz forgets simon, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, Requited Unrequited Love, Simon is a lil dense but he'll get there, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25942129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamon_for_days/pseuds/Cinnamon_for_days
Summary: Sometimes, it's easier to forget instead of love. That's why Baz cast the memory spell that was meant to take away every beautiful, painful memory of Simon Snow. Because monsters never had happy endings.He didn't anticipate that it would go quite so wrong.Now Baz is at risk of losing every single one of his memories, while Simon tries to come to terms with the fact that the Baz he knows (and unknowingly, loves), no longer recognises him.But in the end, Simon will do anything to protect Baz.Because what is a hero without his villain?
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 10
Kudos: 182





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a 2000 word oneshot. Yeah, I don't know what happened either.  
> Second chapter is already written, and will be up in a few days.

**Baz**

I liked to think of the memory spell as a gift to myself. For all the years I’ve spent playing Icarus; after all, there are only so many times you can race towards the sun before you have to take your inevitable fall.  
I told myself that I’d be able to spend my whole life like this. That I’d have the ability to look into blue eyes every day and mock, stare desperately at blond curls that I’d never be able to touch, and spend my nights hunched in bed, always glancing at the other side of the room.

But one of the first things you should know about me is that I’m an insufferable liar.

Simon Snow was a force of nature, and it was impossible to be near him without being pulled in. Sharing a room with him was like being inches away from an open flame. I burned, and I burned, and I burned, over and over, and it was _excruciating,_ it _hurt,_ and one of my only comforts was the knowledge that I would die in the end.

Crowley, I was pathetic.

It still felt like somewhat of a betrayal, no matter how I put it. A betrayal to Simon, a betrayal to myself. Making the choice to forget, and stop loving him, makes the story seem unfinished. Rather than the ending that I always imagined, blood and war, and a confession of love in the last moments before Snow brought my demise, I was choosing not to have an ending at all.

There was one thing I worried about. The one thing that held me back for months and months as I agonised over whether to spell myself free or not.

When it came to the grand finale, the final fight between me and Snow, would I be willing to kill him?

The thought had plagued me. I even had nightmares for a while, where I stood over a blood-sodden battlefield, staring at Snow’s broken, limp frame without a shred of remorse or pity in my eyes. Because my family was _everything,_ and if I’d never fallen in love with him, I would have slit his throat while he slept years ago. If Simon had never shown me that he was so much more than the Mage’s Heir, I would have thrown him through the window of our tower, Anathema be damned.

So when it was me against him, our final stand, the tipping point of our _future,_ and I had no feelings for him other than the hate instilled by my family, would watching Snow die be on the cards for me?

Because memory or not, love or not, a world without Simon Snow wasn’t a world that need to exist. Right now, I’d give him every last ounce of my magic, every piece of my soul, for him to go on living.

So the idea of killing him, of _not caring as I watched him suffer,_ was enough to almost send me over the edge.

Then I realised that I was giving myself altogether too much credit. Snow, despite his many blunders and terrible worth ethic, was smart. He could tell when I was plotting something, and he most certainly had the power to stop it. No matter what I tried, how many stairs I pushed him down, he was always there to save the day. The Mage’s glowing hero. He was far too bright a spark to be put out by the likes of me.

And there was the fact buried deep within me, that I didn’t quite want to admit. That no matter who I was, no matter what I _remembered_ , I would never be able to kill Simon Snow. I’d tried, and I’d always failed, even back when I thought I hated him. Because he was the sun. Because he was _so, so_ bright.

My phone (the Mage’s phone ban could suck it, there was no way I was going without Candy Crush for a full term) read three a.m, and I could hear Snow’s rhythmic breathing in the bed next to mine. He’d tried to fake being asleep a few times before, so he could ‘secretly’ follow me to the Catacombs, but I could always tell. I’d been paying attention to him for far too long to be fooled. This time, he was dead asleep.

Silently, I slid out of bed, and pulled off my pyjamas, revealing the clothes I had on underneath. I tied my hair up to keep it out of my face, and slipped on my shoes before standing up. My wand was slipped neatly into the waistband of my school-issued belt.

It didn’t quite feel real, that this was happening. That I was making the _choice_ to do this. Loving Snow hurt, it hurt so _much,_ but right now it hurt far more to know that I was letting him go.

_I’m sorry Simon Snow, but I don’t want to know a world where you don’t choose me back._

He would probably feel thankful. After tonight, I would show absolutely no more feigned interest in Wellbelove. I wouldn’t care about how his eyes narrowed in jealousy as I stole her away. I wouldn’t lay in bed later, recalling that look, and pretending that he was jealous for _me._

Simon Snow would be utterly removed from my memory.

_That’s a good thing._

I was still an insufferable liar.

It would feel strange, to leave the room without one final goodbye to Simon. An unfinished plotline. And since there was a part of me that still longed for a happy ending, I walked silently over to his bed, and stood over him for just a minute, holding my breath so I didn’t make a sound.

I wanted to kiss him.

_Merlin,_ I wanted to kiss him.

But he was asleep, and this was goodbye, so I just watched him for a moment longer, greedily taking in all I could. While I still appreciated him for the glorious nightmare he was.

Blue eyes.

Golden curls.

Moles littering his face and neck, and moving down below his shirt.

Simon Snow was _alive._

Simon Snow was going to have a _future._

I just wouldn’t feature. Not as I am now.

“I love you.” I whispered, just to say the words once, and if this was a fairy tale, he’d awake at just that moment. He’d tell me that he’d always loved me too. We’d sweep off into the sunset together, and my ending would be a happy one after all.

He continued to sleep on, and I turned around and left the room with my chest tight and eyes prickling.

I didn’t have a place in Simon Snow’s fairy tale. A monster never could.

* * *

**Simon**

It was already lunchtime, and Baz still hadn’t shown up to any of our lessons. I thought it was strange this morning, when I woke up and found that Baz had left the room before I did, which was odd for him. The prick had always been vocal about his beauty sleep (not that he needed it). More than that, he hadn’t even closed the window on the way out.

I thought he was scheming. Penny did not think he was scheming. Penny thought that she was trying to study, and I should be too, even if Baz had bunked off school for a day.

When I disagreed (quite loudly) with Penny’s method of thinking, she kicked me out of the library, and I went to look for Baz.

Our room had no trace of him. His bed was still unmade, which, for the uptight git, was possibly the most fucking surprising thing I’d seen all year (and I’d walked in on the Mage pretending he was Robin Hood, hat and all, crouching on his desk and pointing a child’s bow and arrow set at the picture of Natasha Grimm-Pitch on his office wall).

I tried to sneak back into the library to check if Baz was hiding between the shelves, or under a table. Penny practically hauled me back out.

Eventually, all that was left was the Catacombs.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been down there looking for Baz, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. I honestly had no fucking clue why he’d adopted them as somewhere he regularly went. Was it a vampiric law that all secret lairs had to be underground and surrounded by dead bodies?

Nonetheless, I dutifully trekked through them, looking. It was probably last period by now, but I didn’t want to go back to class. If Baz hadn’t been in lessons all day, he wasn’t going to turn up now. And even though he could be out there cooking up a diabolical plot, he could also have been attacked by a feral rat, and bleeding out on the floor of the Catacombs. And I couldn’t just risk that.

Even Dev and Niall had begun to look a little worried by the time I started searching.

I could barely see six inches in front of me, but I didn’t bother casting a spell for light. I’d either blow the whole place up and get buried alive, or I’d be forced to stare at the skulls set into the walls as I walked. Neither option was particularly attractive.  
There were various scratching noises down by my feet, and I knew it was the rats. Again, I couldn’t understand why Baz, the poshest wanker to ever set foot at Watford, was interested in hanging out under the school with nothing but a bunch of rats and skulls for company.

My foot slipped on something, leaving me skittering backwards and tripping. I paused for a moment, before crouching down, and starting to grope around on the cold, stone floor for whatever I’d stumbled across, praying that it wasn’t a corpse’s finger. Or arm. Or _anything_ to do with a dead body. Magical creatures I could deal with, but humans were pushing it a bit.

My hand brushed against something that I prayed wasn’t a rat. The shudder I felt made me inch forward slightly slower. In hindsight, feeling around in the dark in the middle of a fucking tomb probably hadn’t been the smartest idea I’d ever had.  
Scratch that, none of my ideas were clever. This one probably didn’t even hit the top ten of stupid decisions I had made.  
Finally, the offending item scraped my palm, and I grabbed it triumphantly.

Then I realised what, exactly, it was.

Baz’s wand.

He never went anywhere without his wand.

_What was it doing on the ground?_

And far, far more importantly, if Baz’s wand was abandoned on the floor of the Catacombs, _where was Baz?_

My heart was hammering faster now, and my feet caught one another as I began to run blindly through the dark. Baz’s wand was clenched tightly in my fist.

“Baz!” I called out, my voice bouncing off the walls, creating an indistinguishable echoing clash, which roared in every direction. There was no response, even when it died down. Gasping, I stopped running, reaching out to feel the walls in an attempt to gauge my surroundings. I brushed something that could have been the eye socket of a mouldy skull, before almost falling through another pathway to my right. My breathing slowed slightly, but the tunnels were still alive with the noise I had made.  
 _Was this what Baz had to deal with every time he came down here?_  
The darkness of the tunnels seemed to push closer, and I swallowed. Coming down here alone was very different to coming down to tail Baz. At least he always knew where he was going. That meant by default, I always knew where _I_ was going. Always after him.  
I squeezed Baz’s wand tighter in my hand. Light. I needed light.  
Almost painfully, I extracted my own wand from where I’d stuck it in my back pocket. I never liked to rely on my own magic. It almost never played in my favour but now, I couldn’t see any other option. I shot off a quick prayer to all that was holy (by which I meant sour cherry scones), and adjusted my grip.

**_“Let there be light!”_** I shouted, tensing every muscle in my body to prepare for the possible explosive consequence.

Nothing happened.

Breath in. Breath out. Focus.

“ _It’s a wonder you can control your magic at all.”_ Baz had told me once “ _You try to force all of it out at once instead of letting it flow bit by bit. It’s like you’re_ afraid _of it.”_

Bit by bit. Bit by bit. Don’t let it scare you.

_Do it like Baz._

I raised my wand.

**_“Let there be light!”_** I hissed, closing my eyes and breathing out slowly as I let my magic ibue every syllable, wrapping around my words like weeds. Control had never been my strong point when it came to magic, and holding it back was akin to trying to stop up a dam full of holes. New ones kept bursting through as I frantically tried to stop the whole thing from overflowing.

A second passed, then two, and when I was certain that the ceiling wasn’t going to collapse, I hesitantly opened my eyes.

The tip of my wand burned cheerfully, the flame providing a soft glow to the walls of the Catacombs. I smiled in spite of myself.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.

It was easier to walk when I didn’t have to drag my hands along the walls to keep my bearings. The skulls that adorned the tunnels were still creepy, and made my heart rate pick up when I looked at them for too long, but it felt less like I was stuck in a fucking horror film now that I could see what I was doing.

Wiping my grimy hands on my trouser leg, I kept pushing forwards, holding my burning wand like a torch in front of me and ignoring my scorching fingers.

Then, at last, I saw him.

* * *

**Baz**

It was cold. And I was tired.

Darkness surrounded me, and I was flat on my back, my head pressed against the cold floor. I had tried to struggle up a few times, but I always collapsed, and blacked out again. Even now, I could tell that I was fading in and out of conscious. Despite the fact that I couldn’t see, life was _blurry_ somehow, and I felt drained, like I’d done something that took up all my energy reserve, but couldn’t quite remember what it was.

I was in the Catacombs. I knew that. I was thirsty. I knew that too.

Occasionally, I heard a shout, footsteps, a scream of my name thundering down the tunnels to the small alcove where I was immobilised, and came to the conclusion that I was probably concussed. Nobody knew that I came down to the Catacombs. And who would even try to find me?

The world spun again, and my eyes watered. I hoped it was water at least, because crying blood wouldn’t bode well for my ability to well, _live_.

Could I die down here?

Could vampires even die?

I’d never much liked the idea of living forever. I couldn’t remember why.

More footsteps. More shouting. I considered shouting back, just to make the noise stop, but my throat was scratched raw. As the calls became closer, my head throbbed more and more.

I wanted my mother. I wanted to be four years old again and back in the nursery, feeling her soft, warm hand against my hair as I fell asleep. Because that was the last time I ever really felt safe.

Suddenly, light flared from the end of the passage, accompanied by a clatter of feet. The sudden brightness burned my eyes, but I couldn’t even muster the strength to squeeze them shut. I was close to falling unconscious again.

“Baz!” A voice gasped nearby, and the light got closer. It was a boy. He sounded familiar. His voice hurt my head. I wanted to scream. “What happened? _Baz_?”

My wrist was grabbed with all the delicacy of a rampaging kangaroo, and there was an audible sigh of relief next to me as he felt my pulse. Whoever had found me was a mouth breather. Delightful.  
He leaned over me, and I caught a glimpse of his face for the first time.

_Merlin,_ he was pretty. The torch that he was holding reflected in his eyes, and made the colour _move,_ like waves made of fire rolling in his irises. His curls were scraggly, as if he’d just struggled out of bed, and there was a mole on his cheek, and now that I thought about it, I’d always, always, _always_ wanted to-

The pain in my head doubled and my breath hitched, a squeak of pain forced from the depths of my lungs. Nausea rolled over me. The boy looked even more blatantly terrified at that, dropping my wrist rapidly, and moving his hand so it was positioned beside me, so he could lean over and feel my head for injuries.

“Baz?” His tone was softer now, more careful. He seemed to have figured out that speaking made it worse. But there, behind the control, was a thinly shielded fear “What’s wrong?”

I stared up at him, taking in each individual feature. My head swirled and thrashed and pounded, and my hands shook by my side “Who are you?”

He hadn’t been expecting that, though I couldn’t fathom why. He recoiled as if he’d been burned, eyes fixed on me in shock. I missed the touch of his hand. “What do you mean? It’s _me,_ Baz. Simon. Simon Snow.”

The blur was coming back, making his face fade in and out of focus as he worriedly waited for my reaction. His eyes looked like jewels.

I giggled.

“Simon Snow. What a shit name.”

The pain crashed over me again and the gentle hands of the darkness stole me away.

* * *

When it was dark, I dreamed. And I dreamed of one thing.  
Blue eyes. Bronze curls.  
A smile that made me angry enough to _fight._ A smile that I wanted to protect at all costs.  
I loved him, and I hated him, and I burned, burned, burned.  
And yet, when the darkness receded, I tried to hold on tight, to not let go, because I knew that when I woke up, it would all be gone again.  
The lights flickered.  
I went.

* * *

**Simon**

When the doors of the infirmary closed behind Baz’s limp body and I was left in the spotless corridor, which I was streaking with grime, and dirt, and Baz’s blood, there wasn’t much to do other than think.

Thinking had never even cracked the list of my top one hundred favourite activities. It never seemed to solve anything, and generally, pissed me off quite a bit.  
But Baz had looked like he was on the brink of passing beyond the Veil, they wouldn’t let me in while they examined him, and the thought of going back to our room and seeing his empty bed settled a deep pit of dread in my stomach.  
So I paced the halls, and I made a list.

_Things I Don’t Know:_

  1. _Why Baz was injured. He couldn’t have been attacked; the wards on the school were the strongest they had ever been, and there hadn’t been an invasion in months. And if there were, they would come for me, not Baz.  
(I didn’t like the idea of them going for Baz)  
(I didn’t know why)_
  2. _If Baz was fatally wounded  
_ ( I glossed over that one pretty quickly)
  3. _Why Baz didn’t know who I was._



Strangely, it was the last one that scared me the most. The second one was stupid− there was no way Baz would happily die without trying to take me with him. And the first one was easy enough too. If there was anyone out to get Baz, I would just get rid of them for him. Problem solved.  
But that last one made my fists clench. The easy answer was to say that it was the shock of the moment, or he was just out of it because he’d hit his head.

But somehow it felt like more than that.

When I looked into his eyes as he lost consciousness, he didn’t recognise me. There was no hint of animosity, or flare of his old wit.  
Odd as it was, I’d never imagined a world where Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch didn’t know my name.

I swallowed, and kicked the wall, leaving scuff marks and dirt. When I checked my watch, I saw that an hour had passed while I was lost in my own head.

“Get your grubby little foot off that wall before I rip it off and shove it down your throat.”

I jumped at the threat, my hand immediately moving towards my side, preparing to recite the (inconveniently long) incantation to summon the Sword of Mages. It was a reaction that had been ingrained in me since first year.

Then I blinked.

Fiona glowered from the other end of the corridor, projecting an aura of vengeance as she stalked towards me. She looked ready to tear me limb from limb. I even took a tiny step back before remembering that I hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

Finally, she stopped, just a metre away from me, and hissed. “What the fuck have you done to my nephew?”

“I-I didn’t-”

Her hand shot out, grabbing my arm so hard I gasped. “I will not repeat myself again. What. The _fuck._ Have you done to my nephew.”

“Nothing!” I finally managed to squeak, snatching my arm back, and cradling it to my chest. Then, somehow second-guessing myself in the presence of Baz’s very pissed off aunt, I added. “Well not nothing, I did steal his salt and vinegar crisps this morning, but that was before I knew he was hurt I swear−”

“Snow−”

“−and I know it probably goes against all the sacred writings or whatever for the Chosen One to nick a packet of crisps from his roommate, but _I have needs too−!”_

_“_ Snow−”

“− and Penny says that those crisps have too much salt in them, which means she doesn’t let me buy them that much because apparently I already eat enough cherry scones to wipe out the whole of Britain’s flour stores−”

“ _For the first time in your miserable life, would you shut the fuck up?”_

My mouth shut with an audible click, and I swallowed, trying to stop myself from launching into another tirade. Whenever I’m nervous, I talk, which almost always backfires, since there’s usually somebody on the other end of the conversation who actually has to listen to me. Vaguely, I wonder if the reason for my imminent death will be written in the records as a salt and vinegar crisp related demise.

Fiona massaged her temples and winced. “Your voice goes up about an octave every second.” Pausing, she levelled me with a stare. “Since Baz is far too intelligent to be seriously injured by somebody like you, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. What happened?”

“I found him in the Catacombs.” I told her, watching her face carefully for any sudden bouts of anger “He… wasn’t himself. Looked like he’d hurt his head something nasty, and kept passing out. And…” I bit my lip, worrying it between my teeth, before giving an awkward shrug that felt far too matter-of-fact for how torn up I was feeling. “I don’t think he remembered who I was.”

An incredulous look passed over her face, but before she could say anything, the infirmary door opened. The Nurse stepped out primly, and both Fiona and I immediately whipped round to stare at her. She was smiling, but there was a slight hint of worry in her eyes that betrayed her. My stomach sank. “He’s awake.”

“Is he okay?” I asked far too quickly. “His head was bleeding. It looked like he had a concussion at the very least.”

The concern in her eyes deepened, making them appear a murkier, tired brown, as she finally looked at us properly. “No substantial injuries that a few days of taking it easy won’t fix. And no concussion. The head injury was…” She hesitated almost imperceptibly. “It was of a magical variety.” Then, turning to me, she added. “Mr Snow, thank you for bringing Basilton here, but you can go now. There’s something I need to discuss with his Aunt.”

I shook my head. I didn’t know why, but the idea of leaving right now seemed very, very wrong. Whatever the Nurse was saying, it wasn’t the full story. And that scared me. “I want to see him.”

I expected Fiona to protest, or at the very least cast **_Stand your ground,_** but to my surprise, she watched me with an odd, searching expression that I had never seen before. Then, she sighed, grabbed my shoulder, and started dragging me forward “I suppose we’d better let him in too. If we leave him outside, he’ll just scratch up the door like an abandoned cat.”

I was slightly offended by the comparison (I’d always been more of a dog person), but since Fiona’s moods were fickle at the best of times, I stayed silent.

* * *

the Infirmary had never been one of my favourite places at Watford. My mind took in the smell of antiseptic, the whitewashed walls, and the faint buzz of healing magic in the air, and associated it with the memories of arriving back from the missions the Mage sent me on, often barely returning in one piece. I’d have to sit on one of the white beds and wait while the Nurse checked me over, pronounced me healthy enough to fight again, and sent me on my merry way. I’d be tired and aching and ready to collapse, with nothing to do but stare at the meaningless charts on the wall until I was allowed to go back to the room and sleep.   
The worst times were when Penny was there too. Like last year, when we’d both turned up at the White Chapel with blood dripping from our pores. Those days were always awful because in my post-mission clarity, as I watched Penny being barraged with healing spells and bandages, I’d realise how much danger I had put her in. Maybe everything had turned out okay, but what about next time? Or the time after that?

For me, the infirmary was a place of being hurt, and watching others hurting _because_ of me, so the idea of Baz being the one trussed up in a white bed made my chest hitch.

But then I caught sight of him, and it seemed as though he shared no such qualms.

He reclined against the bedpost, so perfectly poised that I could only assume it was practiced. The same look of haughty apathy he always had was clear as day on his face, and he seemed perfectly alert and happy (as happy as Baz could ever look, at least) as we approached.   
The only signs that he’d been injured at all were the tiny flashes of white bandages I could see underneath his sleeve, an identical one around his head. He looked as if he’d only been in a minor scuffle instead of the horrific state I found him in.

Relief swamped me, and I almost staggered as I stepped forward. He was alright.

As we made our way towards him, he spotted Fiona, and nodded at her. She gave him the middle finger in return, and the two chuckled.

But then he glanced at me. And I knew something was wrong.

His eyes barely caught mine for a moment, but in that mere second, confusion filtered over his features. Then slight pain, as he furrowed his brow. Then his features evened, and his eyes slid over me as easily as if he hadn’t noticed me at all.

There was no animosity. No token sneer, or tossed insult.

It hurt.

“Fiona,” He called out, ignoring me. “I assume you’ve come to badger me on my deathbed?”

“You should be so lucky. My bedside manner is impeccable.” She sniffed, but I could see her visibly relax at the sight of him. The two were obviously close.

The Nurse coughed, drawing our attention. The anxiety lines on her forehead and around her eyes had returned in full force, and there was a slight sorrow to her words “Now that Basilton has a family member in the room, there’s one rather important aspect of his condition that still needs to be discussed.”

Baz, apparently choosing to ignore her for the time being, leaned over to Fiona, and whispered loudly “Not that I don’t appreciate the eye candy Fiona, but why exactly have you dragged a stranger in here to stare at me as I waste away?”

He was looking at me.

Fiona’s eyes widened.

I stared back at him.

There wasn’t a specific emotion I could use to describe myself right then. It felt like the fragile framework of _how things should be_ was falling apart right before my eyes. And I was tumbling down with it.

“Basilton has been the subject of a memory spell.” The Nurse said grimly.

* * *

**Baz**

The blond boy visibly jerked at that, moving his head to and fro to stare at the Nurse and me one after another, gaping like a fish. It looked ridiculously cartoonish, and if he didn’t look like his whole world had just been destroyed, I’d probably have laughed.

Then I realised what exactly the Nurse had just said.

I snapped my head up “I can’t have been hit with a memory spell. I think I’d know if I’d forgotten anything.”

“You’ve forgotten me.” The blond boy said, his voice hollow, blue eyes piercing.

For a second, I stared at him. With his perfect hair, and the sword slung at his hip, he looks like a prince pulled straight from a fairy tale. Except he looked distraught; the horror marred his otherwise beautiful features.

I almost wanted to tell him to breathe. That everything will be okay in the end.

He really was a beautiful bloke.

My head chose that moment to cease the dull ache I’d been nursing for the last half hour, heightening instead into a sharp pain that left me wincing. All thoughts of the boy slipped from my mind as easily as water.

“I don’t even _know_ you.” I snapped back, perhaps a little too harshly. He recoiled.

“Yes, you do.” Fiona interjected. Her face was pale, and she grabbed my arm tightly. I’d never seen her look so scared before. “You really, really do” Seeing my blank expression, she added “He was the one who found you down in the Catacombs.”

I blinked. “Oh,” Twisting to face him, I said with vague politeness. “Well, thank you I suppose.”

“You’re welcome,” the boy said numbly, still not taking his eyes off me.

The Nurse stood from her desk, and walked over to my bed, stepping next to me before speaking again slowly. “It won’t feel like you’ve forgotten anything. That’s the nature of memory spells; they’re designed to be discreet. That’s why they’re illegal,” When nobody interrupted her, she continued, her tone becoming more brusque and business-like. “A memory spell isn’t a problem by itself. Under normal circumstances, they have simple counter-curses that can be implemented at any time.”

The blond boy lit up at that, shooting up from his seat. It was surreal, seeing hope enter his previously downcast eyes. I wanted to see it happen again. “So the spell can be undone?”

She hesitated. “Under normal circumstances. Unfortunately for Basilton, in his case, things are more complicated than that.   
“Although it’s impossible to tell the specific spell that was used on him, one thing is very clear. Something went wrong while it was being cast. By itself, the base of the spell is strong enough to wipe a whole string of memories from a person’s mind. But since the spell was cast incorrectly…” I leaned forward in my seat, listening to every word. The tiniest tinge of fear sparked at the base of my gut. “It has warped Basil’s memories far more than the caster anticipated. What he’s forgotten now may only be the beginning. If a counter-spell isn’t found quickly, then he will lose his memory completely.”

_Lose all my memories?_

The room was silent. Fiona’s grip on my arm began to cut off my blood supply. Outside the Infirmary window, I could vaguely hear the sound of first years giggling.

The heavy scent of smoke settled over the room, enough magic to choke a mule bubbling underneath. The boy at the end of my bed was standing stock still, hands slack by his side, and eyes empty. “ _Snow._ ” Fiona said sharply, but the magic didn’t let up. If anything, it became even denser.

_Something very bad was about to happen._

I wasn’t sure how I knew that, but I was certain as hell that I couldn’t let this carry on.

“A counter-spell,” I said loudly, obnoxious enough to distract, and the hazy look in the boy−Snow’s−eyes lessened a little. I made a show of swinging my legs out of the blankets, to create a movement for him to focus on, before I continued to speak “You said that there’s a counter-spell.”

“Since we don’t know what the original spell was, finding a counter spell for it won’t be easy.” She opened a filing cabinet, and rifled through several sheets of paper, before extracting a few and handing them to me “If we’re lucky, it’ll have been a common one, and one of these counter spells will do the trick.”

I flicked through the papers silently, screwing my nose up at the sheer amount of them. Trying all of these would take days. But losing my entire memory didn’t exactly sound more favourable, so I folded them up and gripped them tightly.  
“What if they don’t work?” Snow asked, edging slightly closer. His eyes kept flicking over me, as if he was making triple sure that I was okay.

“Then we find another damn way.” Fiona said resolutely. “As much as I hate you, Snow, it’s weird as fuck not hearing you two sniping at each other, and I’d smack the shit out of Basilton if he fucking dared to forget who I was. So no matter what, we’re fixing that head of his. Maybe we can even smooth out the many, many things that were wrong with him before this.” She smiled wickedly at me, but I could see the sadness behind it. I squeezed her shoulder in a pathetic attempt at comfort, before coughing awkwardly, and pulling back. Fiona and I had never really been the hugging sort. But for the first time since I’d met her as an infant, she looked afraid, and I wasn’t going to take that lightly.

I decided then and there that I would do my best to break whatever spell had been put on me (and with any luck, happily snap the neck of whoever cast it). Some memories had been lost already. I was going to get those back.

Maybe then Snow would stop looking at me like that. He was attractive as fuck already, and the kicked puppy look sure wasn’t helping.

I couldn’t help but wonder who, exactly, Snow was to me. Why would somebody rip him out of my head? He was attractive, sure, and I couldn’t deny that I found his clumsy words endearing. But memory spell or not, there was something about him that instinctively told me to stay away. _This will end in flames,_ it seemed to say.

Fiona stood, and helped me stand up, before clapping me on the shoulder. “I’ll give your father a call, boyo, and let him know what’s going on. Then I’m going to have a stiff drink because Crowley knows I need it, and _then_ I’m going to find out how to break that flimsy bitch of a spell. See you later,” she strode purposefully out of the room, leaving the infirmary doors banging behind her. I couldn’t stifle a smile. Never let it be said that Fiona wasn’t dedicated in what she did.

“I guess we’d better go back too,” Snow said awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. He practically radiated the fact that he wanted to talk to me. I sighed, and tried to remember where the hell my room was. I knew it was in Mummer’s House, but when I tried to focus on anything further than that, my head ached within an inch of its life.

I swallowed the shame, and asked. “Where is my room?”

He blinked. “Oh. Yeah. The top turret of Mummer’s House.”

I nodded, and started to walk off, but paused when he moved to come after me. “Why are you following me?”

He seemed to tense slightly. “We share a room. I guess that’s another thing you forgot.”

I stared back at him. At his hair. At his blue eyes. At his slightly awkward posture.

And then, against all scraps of common sense I had left, I gave a short nod.

It seemed I was about to be thrust into the best form of hell I’d ever experience.

He picked up his sword (which he seemed to tote everywhere), I picked up my papers, and off to horny misery I went.

* * *

**Simon**

We didn’t speak much when we got back to the room. I went off for a shower, feeling awkward, and by the time I got back, Baz was in bed and facing away from me.

I watched him numbly for a moment, mapping every crease and turn of the blanket that was slung over him, before climbing into my own bed and facing the ceiling.

I was worried about him. He’d already forgotten me. Now he was going to forget everything else?

It didn’t make sense. None of it made any fucking sense.

Why did Baz losing his memory of me hurt so much?

Well for one, it meant that I didn’t know quite where I fit in my destiny anymore. How can you fight a rival who doesn’t know who you are? I thought of Baz’s cold, disinterested eyes back in the infirmary, the way his gaze slipped from mine as if I meant _nothing,_ and pressed my pillow down hard over my head. Magic began to fizzle beneath my skin, and I silently begged it to stop. I couldn’t do it tonight. I couldn’t fight.

What was the point of a hero without his villain?

Scrubbing my eyes, I released the pillow. Maybe that was going too far. Baz was still _Baz._ He was still everything he’d ever been.   
But now he was a Baz that had never known me, never felt anything towards me, because at the very least his hatred implied that he gave half a shit.

And that was the thought which made me snap.

I sat up quickly, switched the room light back on, and chucked my pillow at the back of his head. “Baz. _Baz.”_

“I’m starting to relish the fact that I forgot you.” Baz mumbled after a moment. Apparently being woken up in the middle of the night made him grumpy. Who knew? “I get the feeling that you pissed me off quite a bit.”

“Probably right.” I agreed, moving to sit at the end of my bed. “I think we should talk to each other.”

“Well then Snow, we appear to be at a stalemate, because I think we should both go the fuck to sleep”

I scowled “You forgot about me, so I think it’s only right that we get to know each other again.”

He groaned, and for a second, I thought he was going to ignore me. But then he pulled himself up, pushed his hair out of his face (I preferred it without gel- it made him look nicer), and propped himself up. “If I do this, will you shut up?”

Doubtful. “Sure.”

“Fine.” He scratched the back of his neck and yawned. He still had crease marks on his face from the sheets “So we’re roommates, evidently. Friends?”

“Bitter enemies!” I told him brightly. He peered back at me in disbelief.

“So you woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me that you hate my guts, and what, challenge me to a duel or something?”

“You’d probably win in a duel. You don’t exactly play fair.”

“I assure you, Snow, my sense of honesty is impeccable.”

“Once you called me out to the woods, and set a Chimera on me.”

He laughed, and sparks danced in his steely eyes for the first time that day. They were warmer now; closer to the colour of a darkened sky than a London pavement. I preferred them that way. “I’m sure I simply used whatever tools were at my disposal.”

“You’re bloody proud of yourself, aren’t you!”

He simply raised an eyebrow, and burrowed further back into his duvet, watching me as his hair fell in his face.

And we talked.

I told him about all the times he’d tried to kill me, and all the plots he’d made. He cackled when I told him that he pushed me down a staircase, and asked if I’d accidentally stabbed myself on the way down.

It was the first normal conversation I’d ever had with Baz, and it was all because he’d lost his memory, and couldn’t remember how much he really hated me.  
Honestly, I was surprised that Fiona hadn’t swooped in immediately, and told Baz that he should stay at least twenty feet away from me at all times so he wouldn’t be embarrassed when he got his memory back. But in a way, I was glad she hadn’t. It was nice to have a conversation with him where ‘ _Anathema!’_ wasn’t shouted every thirty seconds.

“We’re going to fix your memory, you know.” I said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. “I’m going to make sure that you don’t lose anything else.”

Baz snorted, and said with a hint of humour. “Drop the saviour complex, it doesn’t suit you.” But later, when the light was turned out again and we were both in bed, I heard him whisper a barely perceptible, “Thank you.”

He really did have nice eyes, for a git.

* * *

**Baz**

Fiona arrived the next morning all guns blazing, kicking the door to our room open in one fell swoop. I didn’t bother asking how she’d got past the gender wards. Snow had kept me up half the night (Crowley, that came out wrong), and I was the living embodiment of the phrase _‘dead on my feet’._ (or maybe _deceased_ embodiment, considering the whole vampire thing).

It had been surreal, spending time with a boy who I didn’t recognise, yet seemed to be able to recount every stupid thing I’d ever done. And it left me wondering why the hell I’d decided that we were enemies in the first place.

Sometimes he’d tell me something that sounded vaguely familiar, but as soon as I tried to think properly about it, my head would burn and twist and ache until I gave up. It was probably part of the spell; Snow had been mixed too far into my life to be forgotten completely, so my mind was trying its hardest to make sure that I couldn’t focus on any discrepancies without almost collapsing in pain. There were a thousand links that lead to nowhere; I knew I was destined to fight the Mage’s heir. I just didn’t know who that was. I knew I’d been flirting with Wellbelove for the last year. I just couldn’t remember why (or why I would pretend to be anything less than a raging homosexual. The fact that anybody thought I was straight was rather amusing to me.)

The spell itself was another thing that didn’t make any sense. I remembered walking down to the Catacombs, but I didn’t know _why._ I’d hunted the night before, and caught enough rats to last me a few days. So I shouldn’t have had to go down to the Catacombs at all. Then it was all a blur until I woke up in the Infirmary, so I couldn’t even remember who had attacked me in the first place. Or why.

Who would benefit from me forgetting Snow?

The more I thought about it, the less any of it made sense. Snow and I were supposed to be enemies, he’d made that undoubtedly clear; why would it matter if I forgot him if we were destined to kill one another in the end? Even if I used to think of him as a friend, I couldn’t imagine that I’d ever let personal feelings get in the way of my duty. In the way of my family.

So why?

The question made no more sense when I woke up, and Fiona barging in was a welcome distraction. I sat up from where I was reclining on my bed, and put my book aside. _Great Expectations_ by Charles Dickens. A frightfully boring story, but one I had read enough times to make the very act of holding it in my hands familiar. It made me feel less like I was losing my mind. Even if, because of the spell, I slowly was.

“Have you tried any of those counter spells yet?” Fiona asked bluntly, striding over to sit on my bed. She was wearing a leather bomber jacket, with safety pins stuck into the sleeves in a way that was intended to be artistic. Anybody else would look like a right knobhead wearing it, but she somehow pulled it off. Snow, apparently hearing Fiona’s voice, poked his head out of the bathroom. His wet hair dripped down his craned neck, and I tried not to follow the drops with my eyes.

“Not yet,” he said, walking out of the bathroom fully and rubbing his hair roughly with a towel, scowling when even more water got on his shirt. I could picture him ditching the towel completely, and shaking his head wildly like a dog instead. The image made me smile. “Baz’s magic needed to replenish, and I didn’t trust myself to cast spells without accidentally setting him on fire.”

I straightened my tie. “I’m hardly flammable, Snow.”

“Yes you are,” he argued easily, sitting down opposite Fiona and I. “You’re a vampire. I don’t want to risk setting you off like flash paper.”

My spine stiffened at the word _vampire._ Just how much did he know? How much had I _told_ him? I tried to play it off with a dry chuckle, but he eyed the tension in my shoulders with curiosity.

Fiona, bless her soul (although blessing it probably wouldn’t do much good as it was almost certainly already doomed to Hell), cut into the conversation, brushing aside the accusation. “Well, since time really is of the essence, and I don’t want you to forget how I like my gin and tonic, we can try them now. Are you good with the Mage’s Heir being here, kiddo, or do you want me to kick him out?”

Snow waited patiently for my answer. There was no hurt in his eyes at the possible dismissal, only unshielded, deeply rooted concern. It was clear that whatever rivalry we had, whatever animosity we shared, had been brought to a screeching halt in his eyes as soon as I had been injured.

An unfamiliar feeling began to sweep over me. I wasn’t entirely sure I liked it.

“He can stay,” I told Fiona.

She nodded curtly in response, not bothering with any further discussion as she withdrew her wand from her sleeve, and stood in front of me with perfect posture. Snow hurried over, dithering between sitting beside me on my bed or standing nearby. After a good few moments of consideration, he remained hovering about a foot away from my bed, as if he was trying to be a comforting presence, yet give me my personal space. It was rather sweet.

Fiona picked up the pile of counter spells I had left on the night stand, giving them a quick once over before lifting her wand. “ ** _A trip down memory lane!”_**

There was a brief rush of static that made every hair on my body stand on end. I shuddered.

Snow edged closer. “Do you remember who I am?”

“Snow,” I said slowly. “I don’t- I’m not sure if I remember more than that.”

He hesitated. “Snow is my last name. I told you my first one down in the Catacombs, but you don’t remember that, right? So the only way you’d know it is if you remembered, well, everything. Do you know what it is?” His own hand ghosted over mine, and I jerked it away.

He was trying not to betray it, but hope had crept into his eyes. As if my memory of him was something he prized. Breaking that hope hurt me more than I wanted to admit. “No.”

“Right,” Fiona said without showing any signs of defeat. “Now we try again.”

But I could tell, in that moment, her own unflinching certainty of my recovery began to waver.

* * *

**Simon**

Baz didn’t show up to any of our classes.

Not that I’d expected him to. I honestly preferred that he stayed in the room with Aunt Fuck Face, trying out spells until he found the right one. Until he got his memory back.

But as much as I hated to admit it, I’d hoped that Baz would be cured in time for first period. I’d stupidly convinced myself that when I walked into Elocution, Baz would already be there with his trademark sneer, and I’d know he remembered me.  
Talking with Baz last night had been good. I tried to be nice, he was civil, and it was probably the longest we’d gone without insulting each other for years. But woven in between the laughter and the anecdotes was the knowledge that seven years of fighting, of _knowing_ one another was gone just like that.

And of course I wanted to find a cure to make sure that Baz didn’t lose any more memories. But there was a small, selfish part of me that was doing it in the hopes that he’d remember my name.

When the bell rang, signalling the end of our last class for the day, I shoved my books and paper into my bag, not caring about the crumpled pages, and went to meet Penelope on the Lawn.  
I’d been trying to avoid her all day (and being rather crap at it, since I sat next to her in most of my classes), mainly because I knew she’d ask why I didn’t show up to dinner yesterday; usually a whole stampede of werewolves couldn’t keep me from my food. And I wasn’t sure that I wanted to talk about the whole Baz thing yet. Mainly because I didn’t even understand how I felt about it, and my go-to method for dealing with complicated problems is to pretend they don’t exist. They usually go away by themselves.

It was harder this time around though. Ignoring Baz was like ignoring an elephant crushing my chest. It was just impossible.

In the end, I shouldn’t have worried about Penny asking questions about last night. I took care of that when I dumped my bag next to her, sat down, and without even missing a beat or making eye contact, promptly burst into tears.

Proper ugly wailing too, not that dramatic single-tear-sliding-down-a-cheek bullshit.

That served as a sufficient, if not fucking mortifying distraction.

Turned out that I was a bit more cut up about the whole Baz thing than I realised.

* * *

When Penny managed to calm me down enough to stem the flow of snot and tears, she demanded an explanation. And to be fair, I had just started crying in front of her with no explanation, so I couldn’t blame her for being a bit alarmed. So I told her.

I told her about how I couldn’t find Baz yesterday.

I told her about running through the Catacombs in the dark.

I told her about finding Baz on the ground.

I told her about how I was terrified that he had died.

I told her about the Infirmary, Fiona, the curse.

I told her about how he couldn’t remember me.

I didn’t tell her how much it hurt, but I think she could tell. Penny had always been good at understanding people. I’d always been shit at it.

“Oh, Simon,” Penny said when I’d finished. There was more to the words, like she knew something I didn’t, but she didn’t elaborate. I think she could tell that the last thing I wanted to do right now was talk about it. She took my hand and squeezed it. “Do Dev and Niall know?”

I nodded. “I think so. They weren’t in Political Science or at lunch, so I figured they went up to see him.”

“He’s just forgotten you for now, right? But if the spell isn’t lifted, he’ll forget everything. Everyone. Who he _is.”_

“Yeah,” I said, but it came out cracked, so I coughed and tried again. “Yeah. That’s it.”

“Then there’s no question,” Penny said. “We’ll have to help him.”

She stood up, brushed the dirt off her clothes, and smiled at me. “We’re going to fix this. Together.”

“Together,” I repeated, and it was the first thing that had felt real so far.

We left the Lawn, and made our way back to Mummer’s House. Penny insisted that I go on ahead, so I didn’t see the trick she used to bypass the gender wards. I wasn’t really sure what she thought I’d do with it even if I found out. It wasn’t like I’d run off to Agatha’s dorm; I was too preoccupied with Baz.

When I reached the open door, my shoulders sagged with relief at the Fiona-free room. I wasn’t sure how much more shouting I could take. Baz sat alone at his desk, his laptop open in front of him. Of course the git was still trying to defend his position as top of the class at a time like this.

Hearing my footsteps, he turned, and then scowled when he saw Penny behind me. “Any reason you decided to bring Bunce along with you?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Of course. He wouldn’t know. “Penny… is my friend.”

“The Chosen One has a sidekick. How admirable,” he said curtly before turning back to his laptop and continued typing.

Fiona had clearly updated him on a few things, then.

“Penny, she’s…” I scratched the back of my head. “She’s smart. I think we have a better chance of finding a counter spell if she’s here.”

He looked Penny up and down, sighed, then closed the lid of his laptop. It was all the invitation she needed to walk in, and make herself perfectly comfortable on my bed. On the way, she picked up the abandoned list of counter spells from the floor. “You’ve tried all of these?”

“All the ones we can do without a full moon and a blood sacrifice.” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, which made me smile.

Penny pushed her glasses closer to her face, and was immediately in her element. She focused on the page. “These spells seem to focus primarily under the assumption that the spell used has a counter spell to match it. Most memory spells don’t. If none of these worked, have you tried some more common healing spells?”

“ **Get well soon** _,”_ Baz said without an ounce of magic, ticking the spells off on his hand one by one. “ **Feel better** _,_ **in sickness and in health** _−_ though for that one I would have had to be married−, **on the mend** _,_ and **fit as a fiddle** _.”_

Penny listened with an expression of close concentration. I stood by the door, happy to let them do their work. I wasn’t allowed to do healing spells; chances were, I’d blow off one of the patient’s limbs by mistake.

“Okay,” Penny said finally. “Medical spells aren’t working either then. I’ll do some research tomorrow, but there’s one more spell that could work.”

“What’s that?” I asked, leaning forward hopefully.

“ ** _True Love’s Kiss.”_**


	2. Chapter 2

****

That night, I turned the light back on again after we’d both changed and got into bed. Baz groaned and mumbled about how I was withholding his beauty sleep (not that the beautiful prick needs much of it), but still sat up in bed without trying to turn the light back off. I smiled.

“So,” I said awkwardly, swinging my legs off my bed to face him. I debated pulling up my covers to hide my bare chest, but decided against it. Baz would probably take the piss out of me for acting like a blushing virgin. Even if I technically _was_ a blushing virgin. “Are you going to try it? True Love’s Kiss.”

He groaned. “Last night you woke me up to happily reminisce about our time as mortal enemies, and _now_ you’re demanding that I make out with someone? Snow, I mean it when I say that you should get your head checked. I hate to admit it, but I’m worried about the sad state of your mind.”

“C’mon, Baz.” I kicked the side of his bed. “There has to be a girl you have a crush on. And have you _seen_ yourself? Whoever you like probably likes you right back.”

“ _Have a crush on?_ Crowley Snow, are we going to braid each other’s hair and watch a rom-com next?”

I actually wouldn’t be averse to the idea, but I decided not to voice it. “Be serious, Baz.”

“I am being serious, Snow. There’s nobody.”

I hesitated as the thought struck me. “What about Agatha?”

He chuckled dryly. “Snow, I can assure you that the moment I start doodling _Mr Baz Wellbelove_ in my notebook is the day I give you permission to stab me.”

“Why not?” I said, suddenly defensive. Merlin and Morgana, had I reached the point of our ex-relationship where I was trying to pimp her out to other guys? “She’s pretty!”

“I’m sure she is.”

“Then why−”

“Because I’m so flamboyantly gay that I should be skipping over a rainbow with a procession of unicorns, you fucking idiot.”

“Oh.” I sat there for a few moments with his stare boring into me. Then it sunk in. “ _Oh._ Well that’s…that’s fine.”

“Thank you for granting me permission to be gay. It’s just what I’ve always wanted.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” I replied, miffed. But I wasn’t really listening to myself.

Baz. Gay.

The two words that I would never have put together suddenly line up perfectly. _Gay._ So he’d kissed blokes? Did he have a secret boyfriend back home?

Fuck, I bet his name was Octavius, and he had seven Persian cats (because everyone knows posh people have cats), and he worked as an underwear model for Vogue (was Vogue still a thing?) and in his spare time he collected the fur of dead puppies to make his coats−

“Snow?”

“Don’t let Octavius kill any more puppies!” I blurted, and then covered my mouth.

Baz blinked. “If I ever come across anyone named Octavius, I’ll be sure to inform them that killing puppies violates several animal protection laws.”

Crowley, my face was probably burning. “Right. Yeah. Do that.” Then I remembered what we were talking about in the first place. “So do you have a guy that you like?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, Snow, I don’t have anyone to hopelessly pine after.”

That brought a spark of _something_ that I probably imagined. “There has to be _someone._ How about we line up all the blokes at Watford and have you kiss them one by one? We could spin it like a charity thing. Charge them five quid for one kiss.”

Baz’s face contorted. “While I appreciate you trying to turn my current predicament into a market opportunity, I’m afraid I have to object to you _pimping me out.”_

“It’d be fine!” I said, and then, to give him some positive reinforcement, I added. “You’d make a great prostitute!”  
I knew I’d fucked up at soon as the first word came out of my mouth. But it was too late. I’d committed.

I’d just told Baz that he was a perfect fit for a job as a sex worker.

The air hung heavy for a moment as we stared at one another, frozen. Then, defying my every expectation, Baz doubled over and started laughing. “Good to know that I always have that to fall back on if my first choice of career doesn’t work out.”

I shrugged uncomfortably, then realised that we were off topic. “Well if there’s a chance it could work, I think you should try it. Maybe there’s someone you like without even knowing it.”

“Even if there _were,_ that’s not how **True Love’s Kiss** _works−”_

“Just try it,” I cut him off. Baz deserved to have a life where he remembered all the people he cared about. Even if he didn’t remember me. And I was going to make sure he got there. “Please?” I gave him my look-how-precious-Simon-is eyes.

He lasted about three seconds before giving in. “ _Fine._ I’ll think about it.”

I grinned. Even if the idea of Baz going around kissing all the blokes at Watford made me more uncomfortable than I liked to admit (Was I secretly homophobic? I’d never cared about Trixie and Keris), I’d do anything to help him hold onto his memories.

“Want to start right now?” I asked.

Baz froze. “What?”

I coughed, suddenly awkward, and gave an off-handed shrug for good measure. “If we’re going to go the **True Love’s Kiss** route, you’ll have to kiss every boy at Watford, right? Why not start with me?”

Baz stared at me incredulously. His voice was just a little too high as he said, “I think you’re being a bit too gung-ho about this whole thing.”

I shrugged. “Not like it means anything, right? It’s not like we like each other like _that._ Just for the process of elimination, y’know?”

A strange, pained look overtook Baz’s face, then disappeared as if it was never there. His features smoothed out into an impassive mask. “Okay. Fine.”

He picked his way over to my bed, and sat down next to me stiffly. “You’ve brushed your teeth, haven’t you?”

I gave him a well-aimed kick in response. Then it struck me.

I was about to kiss my arch-nemesis on the off chance that he could get his memories back.

If somebody had told me that a week ago, I probably would have socked them.

Swallowing, and feeling far too nervous for what this was, I turned to lock eyes with Baz. They were a warm grey, like the colour of the sea during a storm. I couldn’t see much past them; Baz was far too closed off to show his emotions easily in his eyes. Meanwhile, Penny could always tell what I was feeling with a single glance.

We really were polar opposites.

Baz pulled his wand from where he’d tucked it in the waistband of his pyjamas, and held it aloft. “ ** _True Love’s Kiss.”_** He whispered, and I wondered if I was imagining the soft lilt to his words.

I screwed my eyes closed, leaned forwards, and quickly pressed my lips against his closed mouth. The whole thing took less than two seconds. I didn’t even have the time to determine the feel of his lips. It was stilted, awkward, and not at all what I imagined our first kiss would be like.

Wait.

_Imagined?_

I drew back, released the duvet I had been holding in a death grip, and scratched the back of my neck. “I don’t think that worked.”

Why did that upset me?

Baz just nodded, and walked back to his own bed. I turned the light off, and lay down.

I even forgot to open the window.

  


* * *

After hours of watching the moonlight map its way across the room, I still couldn’t sleep. If I angled my head towards the window, I could just about catch a glimpse of the stars, so I tried to pass the time naming the constellations I could see.

When I drew a blank on the first one, and it became clear that I’d spent my first and second year Astronomy class staring at Baz (which in my opinion, was a good use of my time. He plotted a lot back then), I just counted them instead.

_Ten, fifteen, twenty three, forty._

But I’d never been good at not thinking about Baz. After I lost count the third time, I gave in, and let myself think. Properly think, without trying to shove it to the back of my mind.

About kissing Baz.

Because for some reason, I’d thought that would be a good idea. Why? It wasn’t as if Baz would love me. He couldn’t even remember me. All the situation brought was an awkward kiss that he would probably do his best to forget.

I rolled over and touched my lips.

I’d kissed him. And sure it had been shit, but it wasn’t exactly the most romantic of moments. I’d basically announced that he should make out with half the population of Watford, then demanded that the process should start with me. But….if the moment _was_ romantic. If we were holding hands with the sunset behind us, would I want to kiss him then?

The answer was yes. Because of course it was.

That brought a multitude of other scenarios. If we were sat together on the Lawn after class, would I want to kiss him? Yes. If we were running from some beast I had to slay, would I want to kiss him? Yes. If the sky was burning and the dead were rising, would I want to kiss him? Yes.

It wasn’t about the right moment, or the right atmosphere. It was just about Baz.

 _Crowley._ Shit. Fuck. I’m in love with Baz.

And I just kissed him for the first time. In the worst situation possible.

And it wasn’t even True Love.

I groaned, and pulled my sheets over my head, so I could wallow in pity while pretending that Baz wasn’t five feet away. Would Penny wake up if I went to the Cloisters and hurled rocks at her window? Sure, the window might break, but getting detention seemed better than sitting here, with new feelings ( _gay_ feelings), waiting for morning to come because I wasn’t capable of figuring out my emotions alone.

Did this make me gay?

I’d thought I was pretty into Agatha though, back when we were dating. Even if that’s gone now, I still think girls are plenty fit. But nothing on the level of Baz.

So I was half gay? Was that a thing?

Penny would know. Penny knows everything like that.

But before I could even begin the procedure of spending the whole night awake and overthinking (Merlin, I hadn’t even made a _list_ yet. But what would the list even be about? _Reasons I might not be as straight as I previously thought? Reasons I fancy Baz?_ Those would probably turn out to be very similar content-wise), there was a sharp gasp from the other side of the room. I immediately threw my covers off my head and hurtled off my bed, towards where I could see Baz’s rough shape in the darkness. He was sat up, with his sheets pooling around his hips. His head was in his hands, and he was shaking.

“Baz?” I whispered, reaching out to tentatively touch his shoulder. “Hey, Baz? What’s wrong?”

He didn’t respond, so I sat down on the other side of his bed. His mattress creaked under my weight, and the change in balance made him roll forward. I caught him, because it was clear from his state of mind that he wouldn’t even think to stop himself from tumbling onto the floor. Then, gently, giving him the option to throw me off at any moment, I wrapped him in my arms. He buried his head in my chest, and I waited.

After a few minutes, he sniffled, and sat back. The wetness on his cheeks glistened in the moonlight, making his pale skin look even more ethereal. Like it wasn’t part of this world. He rasped something as I wiped his cheek.

“Sorry, what?” I said stupidly. I wasn’t good with emotions. Or comforting people. But Baz was upset, so I had to try.

“My mother,” His voice was tight, but when I looked into his eyes, his emotions weren’t closed off like usual. They were filled with fear. “I can’t remember my mother’s name. Her face. _Anything._ I just know that she was important, and…and...” He broke off, and pressed his face into my neck, then winced. Instantly, I tore off my cross and threw it to the other side of the room. Anything that kept me from comforting Baz was something I could damn well do without.

His mother. He couldn’t remember his mother.

“Baz,” I whispered, tentatively holding his shoulders. He peered up at me, eyes heavy from crying. “Baz, I’m going to take you somewhere. Do you trust me?”

He should have said no. He didn’t remember me. He didn’t _know_ me.

He nodded, so I took his hand and lead him out of our room

* * *

  


Whenever Baz used to try to sneak into the Mage’s office, I was always there to stop him. I never thought I’d be the one to suggest a midnight break in.

I crept up the stairs with Baz following me stiffly (I think he felt embarrassed about crying on my shoulder. He shouldn’t be. If I had a mum and forgot her, I’d be in a right state.), and tested the door handle. I bit my lip when I realised it was locked, tearing off the dead skin with my teeth.

“You don’t have to do this, Snow.” Baz said from behind. He sounded tired. “I’ll just call Fiona in the morning, and-“

I shook my head, still rattling the doorknob. Then I stepped back, and muttered the incantation to summon the Sword of Mages under my breath. The sword was a familiar weight in my hands, so it was easy to heave it over my head and swing, over and over, shattering the lock with a clang. Tiny shards of severed metal dropped to the floor.

“Shit,” I whispered. “Do you think anyone heard that?”

“I cast a muffling spell when I saw that you’d decided to try and battle a door.” Baz sounded annoyed. Good. He was feeling better. I reached out to take his hand, and to my surprise, he didn’t protest. His fingers were cool against mine. Was it because he was a vampire? Or was it because he was a boy?

Crowley, I was in love with a boy.

That seemed like a problem for another day.

The door swung open, and I pulled Baz inside, not bothering with the light. I didn’t want anyone to see it through the window and stop us before I showed Baz what I needed to show him.

In the dark, the room didn’t resemble the same study I’d been in and out of since the first time I came to Watford. It was deeply steeped in shadow and the residual magic of headmasters past, and if I squinted, I could almost imagine the room taking on the appearance of years ago. When Baz’s mum was headmistress.

On the far left wall, just opposite the Mage’s desk, was a portrait of Natasha Grimm-Pitch. Whoever had painted it had done her justice; she was tall and regal, frozen in a pose that was befitting of the bloody Queen. No moonlight hit her picture, but it was still perfectly visible. As if she exuded light all by herself.

I was pretty sure the Mage’s men had tried to pry it off the wall several times, but some sort of spell held it there, and they hadn’t been able to undo it. Anything they tried to cover it with would go up in flames. It was exactly the sort of final _fuck you_ I’d expect from Baz’s mum.

We sat together on the floor in front of the painting. Once it caught Baz’s attention, he didn’t look away. The grey of her eyes matched his.

“That,” I said, pointing at the picture. “is Natasha Grimm-Pitch. She was headmaster here at Watford for a long time. You’d play in the Nursery while she worked. I don’t know as much about her as I should.” I thought about the things I’d found in fifth year, when I’d tried to dig up Baz’s past for proof (proof of what? Baz wasn’t evil. He was just a boy who’d been forced to live with fangs). There was a kind of love in those photos and albums I’d found deep in the Mage’s drawers, the sort of love I’d never had. The love between a mother and a son. A love that ended with tragedy. “But I know that she cared about you more than anything.”

“She died trying to protect me,” Baz said faintly, his voice barely audible. “Vampires had attacked the Nursery, and she died so that I’d be able to get out.”

“Yeah,” I said, then struggled for something else to say. “Do you…do you remember now?”

“Yes,” He said, the tension he carried in his shoulders finally evaporating. I decided not to make a big deal over the fact that he was crying again. “Yeah, I do.”

We sat there hand in hand until the first light of dawn came. Baz told me story after story about his mother. He remembered her.

But how long would it be until he forgot again?

* * *

  


**Baz**

Fiona had taken to dropping by every day during class (which I still wasn’t allowed to attend, despite the fact that my memory in that regard was perfect− I was forced to spend my time writing extra credit papers and doing my own research). She left pictures and albums in huge stacks by my desk, and told me to go through them if I ever forgot anything important. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that if I forgot so much that the content of those albums was new, I would probably already been done for.  
I also hadn’t told her about how I forgot my mother a few days ago because I knew she’d worry, even if she didn’t show it. The curse I’d been hit with didn’t waste any time going up against my weaker memories, it seemed. It went for the important ones, the ones I treasured most.

Which once again, raised the question of Snow.

It was painfully obvious that he had been more important to me than I had admitted. Or probably ever planned to admit.  
I thought about his hand in mine as we sat in front of the Mage’s office, and sighed.

I was beginning to fall in love with him again, and I didn’t even remember his first name. Life kept coming up with increasingly creative ways to remind me that I wasn’t destined for happiness.

The door to the room rattled, and in walked Snow in all his glory, covered in dust and grime.

I wrinkled my nose distastefully because that was the role I was supposed to play. “What the hell happened to you?”

“The Mage called me up to his office again,” he explained, walking over to his bed and yanking his shirt off without a second thought. I hastily averted my eyes. My pathetic coming out of the closet moment clearly hadn’t bothered him, then. “Wanted me to crawl around the air vents to see if the person who broke in left any clues there. Frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t make the connection. I was standing there holding my sword in front of the busted lock the whole time.”

“The Mage isn’t exactly renowned for his intelligence,” I said darkly, thinking about the ill-advised raids he’d tried to pull on my house. Snow frowned, but didn’t argue.

“I was thinking we could go through some of those albums your Aunt left,” he said, _finally_ putting on a new shirt. “You won’t necessarily notice that you’ve lost your memories until they’ve gone.”

“Sure,” I said, but the response lacked enthusiasm. None of the counter spells had worked. There didn’t seem to be anything new we could try. It just seemed like we were trying to stretch out the time before I inevitably forgot everything.

Snow, of course, could read everything on my face. He came closer to me. “Penny’s spending all her free time in the library, researching counter spells. She’s already found a couple of leads that she wants to investigate further. And…” He hesitated. “Have you started trying the **True Love’s Kiss** yet? I mean other than the time we−“

“No.” I said dully, cutting him off.

“Why not?”

I chuckled to myself. It came out rather manic. “Why indeed.”

Because I’d already tried it with the only person I thought it might work with?

He didn’t press the topic any further, though his eyes were dimmed. He picked up one of the albums that Fiona had left, and started flicking through it. “You know, I can’t picture you as a baby. It’s like you just popped into existence six feet tall and with a tie on.”

“Ha, ha.” I said sarcastically, but spun my chair so I could see the page he was looking at. It was a picture of me, my father, Daphne, and the kids. We were standing in front of Big Ben. My father had gone up to London for some business thing, and taken us with him. We went on a historical tour of Parliament while we were there. It was the only part of the trip I hadn’t hated. Sure, the photo was cliché, probably matching millions of other photos that had been taken by people who got within a mile radius of the landmark, but I liked it all the same.

“You’ve got a huge family,” Snow said, and I sensed wonder in his tone. Did he want kids? I could imagine him as a father, heaving a toddler over his shoulders as a pretty woman with a wedding ring smiled in the background.

My chest tightened. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

“Who’s this?” he asked, pointing to the figure next to me in the picture, accidentally smudging it with his hand.

“Mordelia,” I said, smiling, ignoring the way his eyebrows shot up at the name. “Yes, my parents named us that. It’s traditional. She’s probably the one I’m closest to in my family.”

“Cool,” Snow said. “How old is she?”

“She’s−” My brain froze, then came to a stuttering stop. “I don’t… I don’t remember.”

Now he looked worried. “Baz…”

“Don’t.” I said sharply, standing up. “I’m just…I’m going to call my aunt, okay?”

I left him frozen in the middle of the room, the album still clutched in his hands, as I all but ran out of the door.

* * *

  


**Simon**

I gave Baz three hours before I went after him.

Mainly because, if he really wanted to get away, he’d certainly have managed to at the very least leave Watford by that time (and probably be in Mexico with a new identity). Maybe I should have left him to think things out, but I was worried about him. The memory loss was getting worse, there was no doubt about it.

First me, then his mother, now Mordelia… and who knows what he’s forgotten without realising it? Sometimes I caught him staring off into space as if the secrets of the universe were stored within the air. He’d stay like that until he realised I was watching. Obviously, it was worse than he was telling me.

What if he was down in the Catacombs, and forgot the way out? Being down there alone was terrifying−I knew that from experience, and even that had been softened by the fact that I was looking for Baz.

So I went down to the Catacombs, because that was where he went when he was sad. I’d found him crying there a couple of times in fifth year. Those days, I’d always quietly leave and go back to our room without letting him know I’d been there. Everyone needs to have a good cry every now and then, and it wasn’t my place to intrude on it.

Except now I was totally going to intrude on it.

A sense of déjà vu hit me as I walked into the Catacombs, sparking a fear that I knew wasn’t real. It wouldn’t be like last time. I wouldn’t find Baz unconscious, passable for a corpse, in the darkness of a small tunnel. I was going to find him, bring him back to our room, and then I was going to find some answers. Baz was clearly against the **True Love’s Kiss** idea, but I would line up every bloke at Watford and have them kiss him one by one if I had to. Maybe there was somebody he loved without even realising it.

Even if I was in love with Baz, I would let someone else be with him without question if it meant he was safe.

(I might have a little cry about it to Penny later, but that was my own business.)

I’d brought a torch this time. The strong, artificial beam of light definitely made the place seem less creepy than my burning wand. The skulls didn’t bother me so much anymore. They were just people who had lived and died, just like I was going to one day.

Pushing my hair out of my eyes, I continued to walk forward, following the path of my memory. Baz’s mum had a memorial down here. I think Baz was the only one who knew about it (he unwittingly shared that secret with me when I started following him down into the Catacombs). If he was scared, and I was almost certain he was, he’d probably be there.

All this time, I hadn’t even thought to ask Baz about how the memory spell was making him feel. If today was any example, the answer was afraid. And I wanted to be there for him.

I had to walk sideways through a tunnel, rock pressing uncomfortably against me from all sides. I hated the Catacombs. They had a certain way of making you feel trapped−like you could never escape. Technically, I was supposed to be in class right now. I hadn’t even told Penny before skipping. I’d apologise to her later.

I slid out into a small room carved from rock, my ribs smarting uncomfortably. There were no skulls, and no bones. There was however a Baz, sitting hunched next to a flickering candle, which lit up a memorial stone. Natasha Grimm-Pitch’s memorial stone.

He didn’t say anything, but I knew he’d noticed me. And since he hadn’t told me to fuck off yet, I sat down next to him, and took his hand. Easily, as if it didn’t mean anything. Even though it did.

“I called Fiona,” Baz remarked quietly, as if I hadn’t just barged into his hiding place. “I forgot where my family’s house is. My father’s name, too. Even picturing our room while I’m not there is getting difficult.”

It pissed me off. It shouldn’t have, but it did. I was angry at the curse that was warping Baz’s mind. I was angry at the world for not being able to fix it. I was angry at myself for figuring out that I was in love with Baz while he was dealing with so much shit.

“I’ll find a way. I’m the Chosen One. I save everybody.”

“You aren’t a superhero, Snow. We’ve talked about your saviour complex.” His last words were supposed to be teasing, but his tone didn’t match it. “And heroes don’t save villains.”

When I turned to face him, his fangs were out, long and threatening. They curved out of his mouth, pressing so hard, the redness of his lips turned white. He stared at me defiantly.

He was trying to scare me away.

I held his hand, and looked at him, explored his face with my eyes, mapping every feature without avoiding the fangs, until he averted his eyes by himself.

Maybe I couldn’t save everyone.

But I could damn well save Baz.

* * *

“None of the leads panned out,” Penny told me that night at dinner. “I’m back to square one.”

At the very least, I’d convinced Baz to stay back in the room (I brought him a plate of roast beef earlier). Hearing this would probably be the last straw for him.

I speared a Yorkshire pudding with my fork, and drenched it in gravy. “I’m going to spend all night in the library until I find something.”

Penny sighed. “I don’t think it will work, Simon. Whatever spell was used on Baz, it doesn’t have a counter curse. Not one that we can find in time anyway.”

“So what? You’re telling me to give up?” My tone was rough and bitter. It wasn’t fair to take it out on Penny, but I was too upset to care. “I _can’t,_ Pen. I lo−I _care about_ him too much.” Hurriedly, to cover my bluster, I stuffed the Yorkshire pudding in my mouth. Gravy dripped down my chin as I chewed.

But Penny wasn’t fooled. She leaned forward on her chair. “There is one thing that can cure him. **True Love’s Kiss.** ”

“Baz doesn’t want to,” I told her, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. “I thought that there might be someone he loves without knowing it, but he didn’t seem to think so.”

Her brow creased. “Simon…have you tried it with him?”

I didn’t have to ask what she was referring to. I didn’t particularly want to talk about it either, because it was proof that my feelings (even if I didn’t know about them at the time), were unrequited, and would always be that way. “Yes. It didn’t work. And I know you know that I’m in love with him, so I’d really rather you didn’t push it.”

Her fork clattered to the table. “Simon, answer me honestly. Before you kissed him, did you know about your feelings for him?”

I blinked. “No. I figured it out after. Why?”

She huffed, and pulled her fingers through her hair. “That’s not how **True Love’s Kiss** _works,_ Simon. It isn’t enough for both parties to be in love with each other. They have to be _aware_ of it. They have to know that they love the other person, and the other person loves them in return.”

I slowly put my fork down. “So we didn’t do it properly the first time?”

“No!”

Well, shit. I sat dumbly for a moment, then shook my head wildly, trying to beat sense into it. “I need to go talk to Baz.”

“What you need to do is confess your love. If he tells you he feels the same, the spell will work.”

“Right. Yes. Crowley, fuck, yes.” My chair screeched against the stone floor as I leapt up. I began to run for the main doors, just barely missing Cook Pritchard, who was holding a tray of sour cherry scones.

“Never thought I’d see a day where you left without grabbing a few of these,” she laughed, holding the plate aloft.

“ _Fuck off.”_ I hissed, darting past. Her eyes widened. “I mean−no−sorry, Ma’am. I’ll apologise properly later.” Merlin, I hoped that she wouldn’t stop letting me sneak seconds.

I ran through the Courtyard, slamming through the entrance of Mummer’s House, and tearing up the stairs to our tower room without taking another breath. When I finally fell against our door, I waited barely half a second to compose myself, then walked in.

Baz was on the floor, head in hands. He looked up as I walked in. “Who are you?”

Fuck. I was too late.

  


* * *

  


**Baz**

The blond boy stumbled, before steadying himself on the doorframe. He was breathing heavily, as if he’d been running. “That’s…” He broke off, desperately scrubbing his face with his hand. “You know me, Baz. You know me.”

I didn’t think I did.

But then again, everything was hazy. One minute, I could picture a dark haired woman I knew was my Aunt, even if I couldn’t remember her name. The next, I couldn’t picture her face.

My head really hurt.

The boy came towards me slowly, each step methodical, as if he was approaching a startled animal. “Baz. Baz, you know me. Try to remember, okay? Try to remember. You were in the Infirmary once, yeah? You’d just gotten hurt in the Catacombs, and I carried you all the way there.”

In my mind, I could just barely see it. The boy in front of me as I sat on a white bed, his face covered with utter desolation.

Seeing the change of my expression, the boy brightened minutely. “Good, that’s good. We stayed up at night, and talked. We did that a few times. I was trying to help you remember me, but it didn’t work. Do you remember that?”

I could picture the boy laughing as we sat opposite one another. I’d just said something snarky, but he didn’t seem at all offended.

I nodded.

“We were trying to find a counter spell. I thought **True Love’s Kiss** would work, so I tried it, but it turned out I did it wrong. It didn’t go very well. Remember that?”

I could. “You’re a shitty kisser,” I told him.

He laughed. “Normally I’m better. You just have to give me a chance. Now, do you remember sitting in the Mage’s office? We were holding hands and talking about your mother.”

“You really need to look more into the history of our school. All you knew about our last headmistress was that she happened to love me a lot.”

He chuckled, and it made my heart swell. “I’ll make sure to do that. How about sitting together in the Catacombs? You told me I couldn’t save everyone. I thought that I’d do my damn best.”

I remembered. He’d looked at my fangs as if they weren’t something to be afraid of−as if _I_ wasn’t something to be afraid of.

In that moment, I’d really, really wanted to kiss him.

He gently took my hands. “Do you remember my name?”

“Snow.” I told him. He smiled.

“How about my first one?”

I hesitated−it was _there_ , in the corner of my mind, along with a whole string of memories that had been bundled up and tucked away. The wall concealing them was thinning, but I still couldn’t reach. “No. Not yet.”

“Okay.” Snow said, sitting down next to me on the floor. His side was warm. “That’s okay. I’m going to tell you something now. In return, can you tell me the truth? Good or bad,y’know. I just need you to tell me the truth.”

“Okay,” I said, all of my effort concentrated on keeping my memories−at the very least the ones I had of _him,_ even though I knew they weren’t complete. My heart kept time with my spiralling thoughts as I tried not to float away.

Snow swallowed. “Baz, I love you. Probably loved you for a long time if I’m honest, I just couldn’t get my head far enough out of my own ass to see it. I loved you even before you lost your memories, I just figured it out after. And yeah, I know this goes against the grand destiny we’re supposed to have. But fuck destiny. I don’t want to fight you, and I sure as hell don’t want to kill you. The last few weeks have proven that losing you would be like losing a part of myself.” He tentatively leaned over and took my hand, his touch so light I could barely feel it. He was giving me the option to shake him off. “I don’t want to be enemies any more, Baz.”

“I don’t think I ever wanted to be enemies to begin with,” I told him, and as I said the words, I knew they were true. This moment felt familiar in a way; like I’d pictured it over and over in my head. Which to be fair, I probably had. With how quickly I’d fallen for Snow after I forgot who he was, would it be any surprise if it turned out that I was hopelessly lusting after him all along?

Icarus. That’s who I was. Icarus crashing into the sun. Icarus plunging into the sea.

But was it really a tragic ending if Icarus flew, and the sun came up to meet him?

There were words, millions of words, that flickered, just out of reach. Words like _flames_ and _burn_ and _a monster can’t have a happy ending._

Just because a monster couldn’t have a happy ending didn’t mean that he couldn’t at least try.

“I love you too.” I told Snow simply, and for that moment, those three words were enough. There was no need for metaphors or long words designed to tug at the heartstrings.

It was just love, plain and simple.

Even if I was about to forget all of it.

Snow’s face split into a grin, the brightest I’d ever seen, and scrabbled for his wand.

What spell was he about to cast? “I can do it,” I said, worried. Snow didn’t exactly act comfortable around magic.

“No,” Snow said, gently pushing my hands away. “I can do it.”

The tip of his wand was singed and blackened, giving the impression that he was holding a burnt out matchstick instead of a magickal instrument. I honestly don’t know what else I expected.  
He held it high, eyes closed. He breathed in and out. Then he cracked one eye open, looked at me, and smiled.

_“ **True Love’s Kiss!** ”_

His lips met mine, and the world came rushing back.

And with it, the sun began to shine again.

* * *

  


**Simon**

It turned out kissing Baz was bloody fantastic.

Who knew that with actual feelings involved, making out with someone became a lot less awkward? I hadn’t known. Not like this. With Agatha it had always been stiff backs and bumping noses and _shit, sorry, poked your eye._

Baz was cold, and I was warm, and together we were just right.

Somehow, it was explosive and comforting all at once. Like my every nerve was standing on end, but it was _right,_ because I was coming home.

I had one hand around his waist, and the other tucked into his hair, and it felt like the world was breaking down and being put back together all at once. Right there, kissing Baz, everything felt clearer than before.

Fuck destiny and fuck the war. If this worked, and Baz remembered everything, then I wouldn’t let anything else stand in our way. I’d stand in front of that picture of Natasha Grimm-Pitch, and shout at the Mage until my face turned blue.

Finally, after seconds, minutes, hours, we broke apart. Baz’s head landed in my chest, and I held him there.

Fiona was going to fucking kill me for making out with her nephew.

But maybe in a few years, we could have a pint. Or maybe she’d just murder me. Who knew?

Slowly, Baz sat up, and I subconsciously brushed the hair out of his eyes. He hadn’t slicked it back. I liked it loose. I liked Baz’s hair every way.

He didn’t say anything. He just looked at me with his grey eyes. The colour of the sea after a storm.

How could I have ever thought they were emotionless?

I shifted a little. He still wasn’t speaking. What if it hadn’t worked. What if he was about to ask who I was again? “That’s…I mean…do you…”

Baz reached up, held my face, and said. “Simon.”

I breathed out, my muscles weakening from the single word. “Baz.”

“Here.”

We kissed again.

  


* * *

  


“ _You removed your own fucking memory?”_

Baz lowered his book, and stared at me with a raised eyebrow over the top of it. “It seemed like the only option at the time.”

“And you’re telling me this _now?”_

He shrugged, and snapped his book shut without marking his page. He was either really good at remembering exactly what part he was at, or he hadn’t been reading it properly in the first place. “It seemed like a good time.”

Two weeks had passed since he got his memory back. Fiona had sauntered into our room one hour after Baz and I kissed, hugged her nephew, and then gave me a sharp punch in the face. Then she hugged me too. It seemed I’d earned her respect by giving everything I had to find a cure for her nephew (my cheek still smarted from the blow, though).

Penny had been, in my opinion, a bit too condescending over the whole thing. She reckoned that if I’d just asked her about my feelings for Baz sooner, she could have told me that I was in love with him and the whole problem would have been solved. I didn’t agree with her, though. Sure, things progressed in a way that was a little rocky, but Baz was my boyfriend now. I couldn’t think of an ending better than that.

Which brought me back to my current predicament.

“We’re about to go to the Mage. To tell him we both have no intention of fighting this stupid war. Which is a confrontation that, based on past experience with the guy, will not go well. And you choose this time to casually throw in that you _removed your own memory?_ ”

Baz shrugged (Crowley, I was rubbing off on him). “I just thought you should know.”

I dragged my hand across my forehead, and moved to perch next to him. I threw my arm around his shoulder, just because I could. “You were pissed off that you were in love with me. And you thought the best solution to that. Was to forget about me completely?”

“Yes,” he said, then stole a kiss for good measure.

“I don’t know why I expected anything less.”

He snickered, so I pulled him closer, until his head dropped into my lap. “You aren’t ever allowed to do that again. It broke me when you didn’t know who I was. You hear that? Broke me. So don’t do it again. Please.”

Baz looked up at me from where he was lying in my lap. “I don’t ever want to forget this.”

“Good,” I said, then kissed him again. “Because I’m here to stay.”

Later, after the confrontation with the Mage, after all of it, we were in bed together.

“Baz?”

“Simon?”

“What was the spell you used? To forget about me, I mean.”

“ **True Love Tends to Forget.”** He whispered, then winced, as if the admission of love wasn’t something he was used to quite yet.

I wrapped him in my arms. “Well, you got one thing right. This is definitely true love.”

His lips met mine, and on my back, I felt his fingers trace three very familiar words. Words I knew we’d never stop saying to one another as long as we lived.

Because him and me were going to write our own happy ending.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you all enjoyed it. Have a nice day!


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